Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. I was helpless. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus.
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